


For the Living

by Kallanda_Lee



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Boys Kissing, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Christmas fic, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Melancholy, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5637868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kallanda_Lee/pseuds/Kallanda_Lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Fandom Secrets Secret Santa 2015.</p>
<p>In which Bucky Barnes visits the graveyard the day before Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Falazure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falazure/gifts).



For the Living

  
The simple white headstones of the military cemetery stretched as far as Bucky Barnes could see. There were no people in sight - unsurprisingly, as most would spend the the day before Christmas Eve with the living. Signs of recent visits could be seen, though - the occasional bunch of fresh flowers, new pictures to replace fading old ones. Some of the graves were more recent, remembering soldiers who died in Iraq or Afghanistan - further down, there were the fallen of wars that had come and gone without him being fully aware of them, until finally he reached the graves of those who died in WWII.

He wasn't looking for the Howlies - he had visited them months ago, but there was one grave left that he had not yet dared to go to.

He squatted down before the headstone, crossing his legs. He stretched out his fingers and touched the simple relief of letters spelling out his own name.

**James Buchanan Barnes**   
**Hero and Friend**

It was one of those strange things about coming back from the grave. The grave might still stand even when you proved to be breathing - a grave among many other graves, in a part of the cemetery where next of kin was getting rarer by the year, forgotten by everyone.

It was unseasonably warm, and he hated it. When he had imagined this trip in his mind - which he had many times before - there had always been snow. There had been snow when his father had died, a lifetime ago now, shortly before Christmas. There had been snow when he fell to his death, and seventy years had not erased the memory of the chill he had felt in his bones as he lay dying. It felt wrong that he could sit here with December drawing near its end, barely needing long sleeves.

Behind him, footsteps could be heard, and he knew without turning around who it was. He recognized the gait, but even without that, he would have known.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Calculated guess," Steve replied. He sat down next to Bucky and stared at the grave."Peggy calls these things sadness errands. I'm guilty of them, too."

"How is Peggy?" he asked, avoiding the other subject.

"As well as can be expected."

From the corner of his eye, Bucky could see Steve unfolding something.

"Rogers, is that a picnic blanket? Did you just bring a picnic blanket to a cemetery?"

"It's comfortable," he said as he sat down on the soft fabric and motioned for Bucky to join him. And there was so much of Steve in that movement, so much history written there. Bucky sat down beside him, and wrapped an arm around Steve's shoulder.

"Come here often, then?" Bucky asked, and smiled warmly at Steve.

He shrugged. "I hang around sometimes."

Bucky drew him closer and Steve rested his head on his shoulder. He was rewarded by a chaste kiss on the forehead.

"You always were sentimental," Bucky said, "even when you were younger and would have stubbornly denied it."

Steve peered out over the landscape of gravestones. "Yeah, well. Few people here I came to honor. One in particular."

"Must have been a special person."

"He was. He _is_."

Bucky shivered, despite it not being cold. He drew Steve into a kiss. He did not want to make a show of it - not here, in any case. But no one was here to see anyway. Steve made a soft but needy sound and wrapped his arms around Bucky, holding on as if for dear life.

"I missed you," Steve said as he nuzzled against Bucky's neck. "I'd have missed for a lifetime if you didn't come back."

"You'd have moved on. You're hard to kill. And that's something coming from me."

Steve laid down on the blanket, and Bucky settled beside him. Steve looked pensive, looking at the sky. The sun had lost the soft glow of autumn by now, and it looked like dusk was starting to set in even though it would be at least another four hours until sunset.

It was peaceful here, and quiet. The leafless branches were gently rocking in the wind, and two birds were exchanging a passionate discourse.

"I honestly don't know," Steve finally said. "If you'd have died in the war, in '45, and I'd never have been Captain America - then maybe. But here, now...this is not my world. Everything I knew is either gone or withering."

Bucky rested his head on Steve's chest. He could hear the heartbeat there, faster than that of most people at rest. He wondered if that was all the serum or if there was still apprehension about him, about this. If after seventy years their proximity made his heart beat faster.

It had come naturally to them, after Bucky had come back. Pats on the shoulder became hugs. Hugs led to being huddled on the couch together, until one day their lips met and neither of them wanted to pull away. They didn't talk about it, mostly. They didn't give it names. It just was. What they felt for each other was undeniable and self-evident. It felt like it had always been there, like the sun rising in the East, or a river that had known its way to the ocean for over a thousand years.

"Do you have one of those?" Bucky asked, waving vaguely in the direction of the headstone. "I haven't found it."

Steve shook his head. "No, if there was one they made it disappear. Maybe Fury did,it wouldn't surprise me. There's a memorial, though. And that thing at the Smithsonian."

"Yeah, I saw that. It's weird."

"Best friends since childhood," Steve said, and Bucky swore he saw a faint smile on his face. "That part's true."

Bucky cupped Steve face and kissed him again. It was soft, but persistent, claiming Steve as his own. Soft lips on soft lips, feeling the heat of each other, feeling the life that pulsed through their bodies - old but defiant as new.

"I love you, Steve Rogers," he whispered, "let the ghosts of all the ages be my witness, I do."

Steve kissed him again, more needily this time. It was strange that love would grow, here were things lay dead in the ground. But it was stubborn like the weeds on the graves, growing strongly and reaching for the sun.

When they pulled away, he swore he could see a blush on Steve's cheeks.

"You could probably ask for that grave to be removed, you know."

"I couldn't possibly do that," Bucky replied. "You'd lose your prime picnic spot.".

They both laughed at that. It was heartfelt, and Bucky hoped no-one was in earshot. Frankly laughing here was worse than the kissing...but then, maybe it was not. Hadn't they laughed, too - their brothers in arms and all others who lay buried here?

After their laughter died out, they stayed still for the longest time, simply laying in each other's arms, listening to each other breathing.

"You spending tomorrow with the Avengers?" Bucky finally asked.

"Yeah, they're a bit like family now, I guess. Closest thing to it, anyway. You should come. It will be nice."

"I tried to kill half of them."

"Hey, all families have those awkward members. You can be, you know, drunk uncle Bob. But instead of talking about politics and religion, you can talk about how you shot them."

Bucky poked Steve between the ribs. "That's not funny."

"C'mon, it's a bit funny," he said, and he kissed Bucky again.

"Let's get out of here," Bucky finally said. "We don't belong here, not yet. Let's go back to the living."

He got up, offered Steve his hand, and pulled him to his feet, as he had done when they were younger and Steve was bruised from a fight. He was near invulnerable now, but Bucky reminded himself there might still be bruises on his heart.

Bucky lead him to the exit, never letting go. Perhaps, he thought, sometimes Steve Rogers still needed someone looking out for him. Fortunately he had practice.

They walked out, still holding hands, not caring if anyone would see. After all, it was a brand new century.


End file.
